Ten Cents
by Thalia Marie Grace
Summary: He was right behind her. His hair was gold and it was unruly, and his eyes were the same colour. Without saying a word, he tapped her shoulder once, opened his wallet, and handed her a dime.


**Author's Note: How many times am I going to draft oneshots for these babies before I actually finish one?**

* * *

**Ten Cents**

The first time she saw the golden-haired eighteen-year-old boy was when she was at the store.

Clary was buying groceries for her family (her mother, who was ill and could not get out of bed, and her father, who would not leave her mother's side, and her brother, who had dropped out of college to work as many hours as he could seeing as he refused to let his younger sister drop out of high school) and she was ten cents short.

She was ten pennies short.

She was two nickels short.

She was _one dime _short.

At Meijer, you could ride those stupid plastic moving horses ten times with what she was missing. And she didn't have any more money.

He was right behind her. His hair was gold and it was unruly, and his eyes were the same colour. Without saying a word, he tapped her shoulder once, opened his wallet, and handed her a dime.

"I can't." Clary answered. It was unfair of a total stranger to give her a dime—and she, being raised the way she was, would _have _to repay him somehow.

"It's just ten cents," replied the golden-haired boy. He offered the dime toward her once more, and this time she took it.

* * *

The second time she saw him was at school the next day.

Why hadn't she ever seen him before? It was strange, but there he was—sitting two seats in front of her in her Physics class. She knew it was him straight away.

(The hair colour was unmistakable.)

Clary learned that his name was Jace Herondale, and by the end of the school day she knew he was on the basketball team, and that he was adopted into the Lightwood family when he was seven. But he kept his father's last name rather than changing it.

She proceeded to see him at lunch the following hour; he was right in front of her in line. And Clary could also hear when the cashier lunch lady told Jace, flat-out, that he was ten cents short and he couldn't get lunch unless he had ten cents.

And within the second, Clary had pulled a dime out of her pocket and, wordlessly, tapped Jace on the shoulder and held it out to him.

She could still that he instantly recognised her. Who wouldn't? Her flaming red hair was definitely unmistakable. She was nicknamed for it.

Jace's eyes were wide as he answered, "I can't."

"It's just ten cents." Clary answered, half a smile on her face as she held it out again.

Jace half-smiled too, and this time he took it.

She noticed that he was smiling as he left the lunch line.

* * *

The fourth time Clary ever saw Jace Herondale was at the florist's.

Why he was there, she had no idea. But all she knew was that it was May, her mother wasn't getting better, and Clary was buying flowers for what might be the last Mother's Day she would ever spend with her mother.

Jocelyn Morgenstern's favourite flowers were lilies. She had planted lilies in the backyard and in the front yard of Clary's home, but they were long dead. And Clary planned to replace the fake lilies in her mother's bedroom with real ones.

She bought ten.

And, once again, she was ten cents short.

Clary had _sworn _she'd taken enough to cover the tax. She remembered counting it out. So how was she missing it?

With a sigh, she picked up one of the lilies and turned around to put it back. Nine would have to do.

"Miss?" called the clerk. "You're all set. Have a nice day."

What?

Clary frowned, turning back around. The receipt was next to the nine flowers, wrapped up. But the receipt showed that she had paid for ten lilies instead of nine.

"I don't—" said Clary with a frown.

"The young man paid a dime for you." the clerk informed her. "He had golden hair, in case you knew who he was?"

Oh, Clary knew who he was.

And as she exited the shop, she saw Jace Herondale's figure walking down the street.

* * *

Clary stopped counting what time it was that she had seen Jace Herondale after that—mostly because she saw him too often.

It was like fate was pushing them together. He appeared at the store, at the library, beside her in the hallway at school—everywhere.

The oddest time, though, was right after Clary's mother died.

"Oh, shit," said Clary, leaning back against the side of her car. She had been on her way to her mother's funeral when her car nearly ran out of gas, and Clary had barely had enough gas to pull into the nearest gas station.

And she was ten cents short.

She was _not _about to go around asking strangers for ten cents; but she wasn't the type to drive off without paying any of the gas bill. And Clary was not going to call her brother or her father, because they were where _she _needed to be.

"Here."

She recognised Jace Herondale's voice instantly. His car was on the other side of her gas pump, and his wallet was in one of his hands.

A dime was in the other.

"You don't—" started Clary.

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's just a dime?" Jace interrupted her.

"I still owe you ten cents from the florist's a couple months ago."

"I don't care about ten cents, trust me."

"But now it's twenty cents."

"I don't care about that, either." he retorted, and then added: "If you don't take the dime, I'll pay for the whole gas bill."

He was eyeing her black dress.

Clary held her hand out for the dime wordlessly, and he put it in her palm.

"Thanks," she mumbled to him as she walked toward the Shell store. She could hear his footsteps following her, but Jace didn't speak again until they were both outside.

"Whose funeral?" his voice was soft and gentle, careful of prying for information. He was genuinely curious.

"My mother's." Clary answered, her voice just as soft as his. She didn't look at him.

"I'm sorry." Jace said honestly. "I know how losing a parent feels."

It was the first, honest-to-God, genuine apology she'd gotten.

"Thank you." Clary replied. She wasn't just thanking him for the apology, either.

And Jace knew it as he said, "You're welcome."

* * *

It was cold, and it was wet, and it was raining.

And she was without an umbrella.

So she stood on the curb, waiting for the bus to stop there and take her back to her family, her teeth chattering and her hands shaking.

And as the bus rounded the corner and slowed itself to a stop just in front of Clary, someone joined her at the bus stop. But it was too dark to see who.

"A ticket's five ten," said the bus driver as he opened the door.

Clary's heart deflated a little. All she had was a five dollar bill.

Wordlessly, someone tapped on her shoulder. It was the other person from the bus stop.

And it was Jace Herondale, golden hair, eyes, and all.

"I owe you thirty cents now." Clary muttered to him, taking the dime from his hand and handing it to the bus driver along with her five dollar bill.

She took a seat, and Jace took the seat next to her after paying. "The way I see it, all you owe me is a cup of coffee."

His smile was warm.

And so was his mouth every time they kissed.

* * *

**So this is dedicated to MahnoorApple, who asked for a Clace oneshot over on Tumblr, and I couldn't resist. *waves***


End file.
